


Not A Lonely Place

by AntaresofJuly



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Contains trigger, M/M, Read at Your Own Risk, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-10-03 21:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10259186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/pseuds/AntaresofJuly
Summary: A collection of short MegOp fics.1. When Optimus knew Megatron was sentenced to death, he made a decision.2. During the war, Optimus dreamed.3.-4. Optimus returned from his exile to check on a near-stasis Megatron (purple stealth bomber is just too hot, especially when half-destroyed)Be warned, the first story (chapter 1) contains triggers that may be dangerous to depressed people. Other stories are okay.





	1. Not A Lonely Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Optimus knew Megatron was sentenced to death, he made a decision.
> 
> This chapter contains trigger that may be dangerous to people with depression, or any sort of suicidal urges.

It was his deepest secret.

It was a secret meant to be kept in the deepest, darkest corner of his brain module, the most secluded compartment of his spark, only to be indulged in the privacy of exhausted dreams, or an empty shower, once in a while. 

It was a secret whose unveiling he feared the most. The mere potential terrified him more than even the tormenting doubts and insecurities about his qualification for the Matrix. What would his Autobots say? The soldiers who followed him through battlefields to the edge of life and death? What would they think if they knew their trusted Prime was pining after their greatest enemy, THE Megatron? (Yes, he did pine after him. At least, he had the courage to admit that much to himself.)

He couldn't even begin to imagine. It was an unspeakable situation. So he had vowed to carry this secret to his grave.

Funny that if they were actually Conjunx Enduras, if they had the kind of deep bond he sometimes imagined, there'd be much less trouble. He would die of spark failure at the exact moment Megatron's spark was extinguished.

Megatron was sentenced to death. 

Tomorrow, at sunset. Public execution.

Prowl had asked if he'd like to "have the honor." He had shaken, his head, barely. He could not think at the moment. He could hardly conceal it.

It was no surprise. He'd known this was going to happen. Of course he did. On the trip back to Cybertron his processor generated countless absurd scenarios, wild plans. He entertained them in his head, even though he knew he could never... What else was he supposed to do, but to find what patheticly little solace in those flitting fantasies? He would take Megatron, a spaceship, or an escape pod, and run far far away from everyone they knew, far far away to the end of galaxies...

He needed them, the impossible dreams, to take his mind off the harsh reality that was going to come. To keep it out of the door for even a little bit longer. But it kept knocking, knocking, knocking, and he was torn into pieces.

Tomorrow.

There was still time.

His sparkbeats raced. There was still time. It was not too late. His ventilation caught as he considered it carefully, seriously, one last time. And life returned to him as he did. Yes, he could still do it. He had given his all to the cause, to his people. He just wanted this one thing. Just this one. Couldn't he just have this one indulgence, this one wish, for himself? Hope soared, up among the stars, until it abruptly collapsed.

This was his last chance.

A Prime belonged to the people. His responsibility to his Autobots should always come first. The most basic principle. Optimus Prime could not, would not betray it. 

But Orion Pax could not live with himself to stand by and let Megatron be executed.

Even if Megatron welcomed this fate, chose it even; Even if he had tried to accomplish the same end several times during the war; Even if everyone else would be cheering for it. 

He could not.

So there was really only one option left.

\-----

On the day of the execution, he waited in his office. Ratchet called, so did Bumblebee. He said words to them, smile. He felt strangely calm, almost in a trance. Until the drum was beaten. 

It was one hour before sunset, time for Megatron to be taken to the valley. Optimus transformed and drived to a nearby hill. He transformed again and climbed on until he reached the top, overlooking the execution site. He silently stood on the hilltop, waiting. 

There were already mechs, thousands of them, filling the entire valley, leaving one rectangular patch empty.

Then the vehicle fleet arrived. Megatron stepped out. They escorted him to the center of the square, before an elevated podium.

Optimus watched as they proceeded.

As the sentence was read out loud once again, he thought he saw Megatron looked at him once, his crimson optics shining under the setting sun. He couldn't make out Megatron's expression due to the distance between them, but he chose to believe. Optimus allowed himself this little illusion, and smiled back at the mech who possessed his spark. 

As Prowl pushed Megatron down onto the knees, Optimus kneeled down too, back to the evening sun, facing the execution site. He knew the exact time of the execution. He had looked it up and check many times. He trusted Prowl to be exact.

So he didn’t need to wait for the BANG. 

Prowl took out the gun. Optimus carefully pulled out his blaster, which he had used to take out countless lives during the entirety of the war, just like his counterpart, and pointed, this time, to his own temple. 

At the exact klick of execution, Optimus pulled the trigger. 

His optics were still lock on Megatron's kneeling figure as he fell. He still didn’t manage to get a glimpse of Megatron’s face, but he imagined there would be a smile, just like his own.

 

\-----------------

 

It started well before the war broke out. It started simple and pure. An adoring fan's admiration of a talented poet, intellectual, and social activist. It grew with the war, both in intensity and complexity. He tried to suppress it, to extinguish it. But only managed to stroke the fire. What did it matter, really? He only had this one indulgence. It was not as if he was going to commit treason. He'd give his all, but his spark. His spark, was his own.

And he gives it to the mech he chose. 

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally came up with the idea of this when I was contemplating why I didn't really ship idw MegOP, at least not when they were still enemies, even though their chemistry and tensions were so thick. They are both the type with a heavy heart and I don't think if they harbored any deeper feelings for each other, they'd view it lightly, especially with their already heavy guilts. And tragedy could easily happen.
> 
> For what it's worth, I intended the last scene to be more than "die for love." Optimus was also punishig himself for the people he had killed during the war, because no matter what, he was still responsible for those deaths. He considered himself guilty too. So he was also paying for a crime that he could not be convicted of. And he made a statement of it with his action: "you will not try me like you tried our enemy. I will do it myself."


	2. Dream Sequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She walks in beauty, like the night_   
>  _Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_   
>  _And all that’s best of dark and bright_   
>  _Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_   
>    
>  _—— “She Walks in Beauty” BY LORD BYRON_

Optimus dreamed.

Sometimes he dreamed of good things. Sometimes the bad. Then, there were sometimes the undefinable.

Battleground, covered with singed bodies, severed limbs. Spilled energon running in rivulets, tinting the soil pinkish. Optimus roamed the dead land. There were no more sound, but the occasional cracks of burning corpses. Pillars of black smoke rising high into the hanging clouds. Optimus roamed the land of wasted sparks, searching, while unsure of what he was searching for. 

Until abruptly, he saw it, his target.

Unassuming, inconspicuous, the great Megatron lay motionless on the battleground. Though, it was not really Megatron, but a malformed imitation of the form of the very mech, a maimed mess of wires and compartments, mingled and lifeless.

An explosion perhaps ended his life, simple and clean.

Optimus had been having this same dream countless times. It was always like this, searching, searching aimlessly, until the finding.

He would, like always, stand before it, for some long time. Sometimes, it felt like an eternity. The end of an era, he would contemplate, while all around them morphed into a speeding blur. But he and the imitation of Megatron would stay unaffected.

It had always ended like that: his dream would fade, or he would wake up with a mild, ambiguous discontentment, a ghost fretfulness under the plating. 

He never knew how to correctly classify it. Good or bad, he could not tell. He put it under “unknown,” assuming the dream would always end like that, without anything tangible.

He was wrong.

This time, this time the dream did not stale or fade.

Optimus stood before the fallen body of his life-long enemy, just as every time. A strange pull at the center of his spark. It had… always been there. He understood now.

And he knew what to do, like the clouded sky of the day, like the darkened sky of the night. It was natural and spontaneous. Without a thought or doubt.

He reached down to grab the severed faceplate, the faceplate of stormed climes, of the best of dark and bright, which met in the once glowing red.

He woke up, this time without a trace of discontentment or fretted inching.

Just a despondency.


	3. Understanding, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDW, Ex-Rid, right after they brought Megatron in. Megatron was still in his stealth bomber body

Optimus didn’t expect the falter of his spark as he entered the room.

  
He had rushed back to Cybertron whence he heard of Megatron’s return. Of course, they told him. He did hesitated in this decision. After all, he was finally a free mech, but something tagged at his spark, calling him home. He knew how Megatron was captured, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight.

  
He had seen Megatron at his worst many times, crashed by a city, locked in gunmode, ripped in halves… he caused most of them. But he had never seen Megatron quite like this… His entire outer frame was shattered. What remained was nothing but a skeleton, too ragged and wrecked that it could barely cover any part of his protoform underneath.

Completely exposed protoform would have looked better. Less broken. But it was not only the outer shell that emitted a brokenness.

  
He was still alive, Optimus had to check again to make sure, although he seemed too maimed to be. He looked over the purple skeleton once more, cautiously. Fracture lines run all over it; some pieces had broken off, but still lingering on, making it almost fragile looking. This was the frame which singlehandly defeated D-Void’s gigantic monster; which could have easily extinguished Optimus’ spark alone with his entire earth team, had Megatron so wished. A flight frame, one that commanded indisputable power and elegance… undoubtedly the most powerful frame Megatron had ever had, now lay broken on a single slab. No one had apparently made any effort to repair it.

  
His greatest enemy lay there like death awoken. And somehow seeing this hurt more than it had any right to.

  
Optimus navigated a little closer. Megatron’s listless body was on a basic slab, carelessly deposited, optics shut off. He really did look like he could expire any moment… Maybe even death would have looked better.

  
“What’s the matter, Prime?” A raspy voice resounded. Optimus jumped. It took a moment for him to register, Megatron. The voice was hoarse and creaky, not unsuitable for his current state, his cracked optics still completely dark. “I heard you had run.”

  
He did not expect Megatron to be conscious. Should have known better. Another time, another cell, flashed crossed the back of his mind. He stilled himself.

  
“I’ve come back,” he said, “to make sure.” Of what? He was suddenly no longer sure.

  
Megatron didn’t speak. Optimus wondered what the tyrant was thinking, all the time silently lying here. Another plot? Revenge? Yet, Megatron looked, felt, different this time. He looked… almost tired. Optimus felt a reflection of it ached in his spark. No one liked to be helpless. Especially not ones like the two of them. Yet, here Megatron was, broken, in enemies’ hands, with no one to rely on.

  
Especially with Starscream in charge.

  
He had not responded to Starscream, or anyone, so Optimus had heard. He responded to Optimus alone.

  
Watching Megatron’s dimmed optics, some part of his four-million-years-war-hardened spark tendered a bit. And the old ache came again, for the bright young poet with candid cadmiums eye he failed to save, for the leftover statics cracking from another cell of another time.

  
“One confined space to another.” Megatron murmured, “we got to stop meeting like this, prime.”

  
Optimus let out a startled laugh, then realizing, with regret, that he had said the last part aloud. Loneliness had indulged his lack of discretion.

  
“Not Prime,” he corrected, “not anymore. Just Orion.”

  
Megatron onlined his optics at this, and looked at him. Fractured and faded they might be, his gaze was still cuttingly sharp.

  
“We can not run away from who we are,” he said, and paused, “Optimus.”

  
Optimus felt a sudden rush of anger, followed by unease. He haven’t figured it out himself. He could not afford to let Megatron get into his head again.

  
He turned away, ready to leave.

  
“Don’t.”

  
Surprised, he turned back to face Megatron. Megatron looked even more surprised than he was. His lips parted and closed. Finally, they settled on one mocked explanation. “These days, the only company I got was Starscream. I thought torture was against Autobot rules.”

  
**I _tortured_ you. **

  
“It’s no longer Autobots’ rule.” He reminded, mildly, and walked next to the slab. Then, he was unsure of what to do. Again, he felt the muted aching of the pervasive tiredness.  
He looked down at Megatron. Megatron returned his gaze unfalteringly.

  
“I am, too.” He whispered. Without thinking, he reached out his hand.

  
And startled when his fingertips collided with the cold metals of Megatron’s faceplate. He was touching Megatron’s face, he realized with shock. He touched Megatron countless times, always with the intent to injure.

  
He forced his hand to stay still, it had started to tremble a little, and felt the texture. It was the only part of Megatron that was relatively intact.

  
Megatron seemed bewildered too. His injuries must have slowed down his processors. He finally froze, but not before leaning a little into the touch, almost reflexively.

  
Optimus felt a wave of emotions washed through his spark, his chest. He let it flooded his brain module, uninhabited.

  
“What is the point,” he thought. The world didn’t want him. It didn’t need him. They were redundant. Why should he still hold back?

  
He leaned down, their optics mere inches apart, Megatron still got a paleness to them even now when surprise had prompted him into full-power. They looked like the last shine of a burning star, ready to fade away.

  
What was he waiting for?

  
He pressed down, and their lips collided.

 

TBC...


	4. Understanding, part two

He leaned down, their optics mere inches apart, Megatron still got a paleness to them even now when surprise had prompted him into full-power. They looked like the last shine of a burning star, ready to fade away.

  
What was he waiting for?

  
Their lips collided.

  
An earth custom, one that Optimus secretly adored for all these years. The kiss was sweeter than Optimus could have imagined it to be, light, yet electrifying, lingering.

  
Megatron was venting harshly when Optimus got up. His optics now burnt a brighter red, still not quite cadmium, but enough to light up a spark.

  
He raised his hand, seized Optimus’ shoulder, seized tight.

  
Optimus climbed on the slab.

  
Megatron warned harshly when he moved over his body, gently lifted up his knees.

  
Optimus paused, looking at him imploringly. They stared at each other for a while. Then Megatron relented.

  
He lied back down on the slab, watching the lights on the ceiling. “Don’t make me stop you, Optimus.” He rasped.

  
Optimus was too delirious now to know what he should say, but he couldn’t stop, not now.

  
“I’ll be careful, Megatron. I will…”

  
“Optimus.” Megatron gasped, squirming, as he pushed one finger in. So tight, and warm. His spark accelerated. It was almost too tight. He didn’t stop. This was what he had dreamed, so many times. He would not let go what he had now.

  
Megatron’s clawed hands scraped on his windshields, as he stretched, felt, caressed…

  
Hot, hot and wet and yielding under him, hot and wet and yielding and tight…

  
His voice caught. He could no longer speak a coherent sentence, or a single word. He sealed Megatron’s intake with his mouth and tongue.

  
Megatron let him.

  
His pre-pressurized spike extended impatiently with a click as he finally opened the hatch.

  
He lifted up his head to look at his nemesis as he aimed to enter, as he began…

  
Megatron squeezed his shoulder guards, a bit too hard (there must be dents), crimson optics glazed.

  
“Optimus…” he whispered.

  
“Megatron.” He leaned down and whispered possessively into his audios, and sheathed himself to the hilt in one smooth slide.

  
They locked there for an undefinable amount of time.

  
Not moving, not speaking, the only sounds made were their heavy vents.

  
Until reality suddenly caught up. He was fragging Megatron.

  
And Megatron wanted him. He was clenching to him, death grips, in every way. His vents were irregular, his injuries. His broken, stripped down frame locked onto Optimus’, crashed under him, he looked almost…

  
Almost fragile.

  
An image of Megatron, hanging down the ceiling, electricity dancing through his limp body, entered his mind, flashed across the back of Optimus’ optics, and he nearly wept.

  
“Well,” Megatron’s cracked voice demanded, bringing him back to now, “what are you waiting for?”

  
“I’m sorry.” He broke out, barely audible even to himself.

  
The hot and wet linings surrounding him tightened.

  
Optimus took in a sudden vent. He stopped the urge to move immediately, to lost control and take. Never again, he thought, never again.

  
His sudden move and stop made Megatron restless. “Are you…” he cracked, “is this… ah… your new, deprived form of torture?”

  
Optimus responded by taking hold of Megatron’s waist, and slowly, studiously began to move in and out, in and out.

  
Charges built up steadfast and slow. But even a small amount was too much for Megatron without a full functioning frame to dispense them.

  
Soon, Megatron was reduced to gasps and moans, holding onto Optimus tight like he was the last lifeboat in the vast void.

  
Megatron needed him, he called to him, and Optimus was joyous. He could feel him now, unguarded, abandoned.

  
The tiredness and defeat he was too prideful to let show, the aching loneliness and climbing despair, the hurts and doubts, the feelings of being lost.

  
It’s okay, he tried to convey through their shared field, let me soothe you. Accept my help. Believe in me. Take my arms.

  
Optimus needed someone to accept him, the real him, for such a long time now. He needed someone who knows every piece of his good and bad, someone in front of whom he did not need to pretend or hide, someone who saw him as he truly was, and still accepted him, wholly.

  
That someone was always meant to be Megatron, he finally admitted. It was like relieving a gnawing pressure long neglected. There was no need to deny anymore, no further lies. And he would not deny himself no more.

  
He took Megatron, his devastated, skeletal frame, into his arms, and pulled his enemy’s frame flush against his frame, carefully holding the broken parts in place. And he thrusted with possessive force, unrelenting speed, punishing grinds.

  
Megatron let out startled whimpers at the change of pace, but he too was unable to hold onto consciousness much longer.

  
Soon they were immersed in pure bliss.

  
Optimus released hard into the former war-bringer. He captured Megatron’s intake again in a kiss, when he felt him jolting from the inner impact.

  
They were lost souls in this violent, unstable world, helpless in their shared solitudes. He may never know what tomorrow would bring, but at least for now, they had each other to hold.


End file.
